


How it All Ended in 2017

by RightNow2808



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Fedal - Freeform, Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RightNow2808/pseuds/RightNow2808
Summary: It may have been Roger's fault, but in the end it was Rafa who got their hearts broken.





	How it All Ended in 2017

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow my Rafa fan account on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rafael_nadal_parera_/  
> Or my tumblr: https://generousrebelpeanut.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you have any prompts, I will be happy to fill them, just slide into the comments :)  
> I will be very happy of any comment, kudos or follow on the mentioned accounts.  
> Next Fedal one shot probably coming in two weeks or so (if y'all want one of course) :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this :)

Roger couldn't remember when all of this had started. In 2007, maybe, when they had spent so much time together. Maybe a bit before that. He would never admit it, but he felt attraction towards that man since 2004, when Rafa wasn't a man, but a boy with a big smile and incredible ambitions. 

Their eyes locked. Rafa was standing on the other side of the room. He was talking to someone – Roger could only see their back – but the Spaniard’s eyes were trained on him even as his lips were moving. The intense eye contact lasted for a few seconds, before Rafa broke it, returning his full attention to the person speaking to him. 

Rafa had grown so much, Roger realized. Gone was the wide-eyed, shy boy who listened to Roger’s every word and followed him around like a puppy. This Rafael was a grown-up man who was independent and confident and everything he wasn’t when he was young. It hurt to know that Roger wasn’t always there to see him grow up.

***

2005

“Hola, Rogi!” Rafael greeted enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear, showing off his perfect teeth. Roger looked up from his phone – he was in the middle of texting Mirka.

“Hey, Rafa,” he replied and offered a small smile. He couldn’t help but look Rafa up and down. He always looked so good. Rafa choose a tank top this morning and barely managed to put it on the right way – Roger could tell that by taking one look at him – but, dear God, it showed off his muscular arms and prominent collarbones and Roger just wanted to take a bite. He busied himself with finishing the text message instead. 

“How was practice?” Rafa asked and sat down beside him. Rafa was usually shy, but not around Roger – never around Roger. He was bouncing with energy Roger didn’t really feel. He looked at Rafa again and wondered if this boy knew how much Roger just wanted to hold him down and take him. 

Rafa’s smile never left his face and Roger figured that he didn’t.

***

2006

Rafa was a little shit. That’s what Roger concluded a few months after the boy of nineteen bet him at Roland Garros. This boy stole his victory, stole the control he had over his body, over his mind and Roger was annoyed. 

Rafa was grinning at him from the other side of the net and why on Earth did Roger agree to practice with him? He squeezed the ball in his hand tighter and threw it up in the air higher than needed, not even surprised when he failed his serve. Rafa giggled and Roger turned to him with a long glare, his fingers twitching with the need to wrap around Rafa’s lean throat and squeeze until the boy was   
panting and whimpering underneath him.

Roger whispered a curse as arousal pooled low in his belly and tightened his grip on the racquet, serving again. 

***

2007

Roger’s dreams came true. Rafa had always respected him but after the Wimbledon final, something in the younger man changed. He was twenty-one by then. Respect in Rafael’s eyes turned into admiration and admiration turned into awe. 

Roger should have felt bad. He should have felt bad when he asked Rafa to come to his hotel room in Madrid. They were staying in the same hotel, Rafa’s room only a few floors above his own. It was an easy trip for Rafa, Roger kept telling himself. He should have felt bad when he opened the door after Rafa knocked. He smiled tightly and Rafa grinned in response, eyes shining brightly. 

Roger should have felt bad when he told Rafa they could play some video games and Rafa agreed with a nod of his head and another wide grin. The younger man spoke in broken English and giggled at whatever Roger had to say.

Roger should have felt bad when he took the controller out of Rafa’s hands. Rafa looked at him with wide confused eyes and Roger had to stifle a groan. He should have felt bad when he reached for Rafa’s jaw and pulled the man towards himself. The expression on Rafa’s face turned from confused to frightened but then their lips pressed together hotly and everything else was forgotten.

Roger grasped Rafa’s hand and led him towards the bedroom. He should have felt bad when he pushed Rafa on top of the bed and climbed on top of him. He should have felt bad when he undressed the man under him while their lips never parted, before discarding his own clothes. He should have felt bad when he reached for lube and a condom and when his hand travelled in between Rafa’s legs and his fingers pushed inside. He should have felt bad when he rolled a condom on and pushed himself inside the young man. Rafa whimpered prettily and finally – fucking finally – Roger could wrap his fingers around the curve of the Spaniard’s neck and squeeze down just slightly.

He should have felt bad when Rafa cried out and his legs tightened around Roger’s waist, when his pretty cock twitched and hips jerked, coming without a single touch over his tanned belly.  
He should have felt bad, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Not when he finally had Rafa right where he wanted him. 

***

2008

Roger ran his fingers over Rafa’s prominent hipbone. Rafa hummed in response and opened one eye to look at Roger. 

“Okay?” he asked, not assuring Roger but himself. Roger swallowed tightly, pulling his hand to himself and rolling away from Rafa.

“Yes,” he replied and reached for the sheet to cover his bare body. Rafa frowned, Roger noticed from the corners of his eyes. But when he turned back towards the younger man, a smile graced those full lips. A forced smile, but a smile nonetheless and Roger grasped that fact tightly. 

The year had been difficult for both of them, but Rafa seemed to have more luck. Not luck, Roger quickly corrected himself, talent. But wasn’t it easier to admit that Rafa was just simply lucky instead of acknowledging just how good the young man had got? Roger sighed and looked towards the ceiling. He had tried, he had tried to push down this feeling so badly, but jealousy was one twisted son of a bitch. 

Tennis was his whole life. Rafa already had his heart, body and soul. His number one ranking meant everything to him and now Rafa had taken this too. Suddenly annoyed with the man lying next to him Roger stood up and walked towards the bathroom, picking up his discarded underwear on the way. He turned on the shower and stepped under the scorching spray of water, letting it wash away the taste and smell – every trace of Rafa. 

When he returned to the bathroom, Rafa wasn’t there but the bed was still warm and unmade. There was a note on the bedside table. 

See you in Paris. -R

***

2009

Roger didn’t understand the pain in his chest. He was watching Rafael’s match against some guy who didn’t matter – not really. Rafa was wincing in pain every once in a while and Roger wanted to run out there and protect him from everything. 

The strange pain magnified when he climbed back to number one, knowing he was only there because of Rafa’s injuries. 

They haven’t talked in ages and Roger felt horribly stupid when he showed up at Rafa’s hotel room after his loss at the Rogers cup. They had both lost but Roger knew this meant Rafa would slip down to number three and he just wanted to see if the young man was okay.

After knocking a few times Maria opened the door and Roger felt frozen in place. He didn’t know she would be here. She smiled sweetly and asked if she could help him. After Roger regained his composure he let himself be led inside and sat down on the couch, while Maria went to get Rafa. She left the door into the hall open and he could hear her and another voice – Rafa – talking in Spanish quickly. He couldn’t catch anything, but just a few seconds later there were unmistakable sounds of kissing and Roger felt it like a punch to his chest. 

He didn’t wait for Rafa to come, bolting through the door before either of them got a chance to come back into the living room. 

It was easy to tell Mirka he loved her than evening through the phone, telling her to kiss their tiny babygirls’ for him, easy to fall asleep without thinking about Rafa. 

That might have been a lie. It was never easier. 

***

2010

Rafa called it his best year. Rafa’s words were still ringing in his ears when he was standing by the window, looking out at the fireworks going off, their sounds not loud enough to overshadow the thoughts of Rafa.

Mirka pressed to his side and Roger smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Happy new year, love,” he murmured and kissed her forehead. She smiled too, eyes sparkling in happiness and Roger kissed her again, on the lips this time, because he needed his new year’s kiss.

“You too,” Mirka said and wrapped both of her hands around Roger. They stood in a hug for a long time, until the fireworks in the centre of Basel ended and silence filled the space around them. “Hey, Roger?”

“Yes?” Roger made a step back to look at his wife. Their gazes locked and Roger found something solid in her warm eyes.

“Go call Rafael,” she said. Roger froze but did just that a few seconds later, after Mirka left the room.

***

2011

Rafael was lying on top of Roger, the side of his face pressed to Roger’s sweaty chest, legs still spread out on either side of Roger’s hips. Rafa was trembling so Roger ran a soothing hand down his strong back in hopes of calming him down.

Rafa suddenly giggled and looked up at Roger with glee written all over his face – in those kind eyes, in that wide smile.

“That was so good,” he said and rolled off Roger, immediately pressing up against his side. Roger hummed in agreement, looking down where traces of what they just did remained on his stomach. Rafa noticed and giggled again, dragging his finger through the mess of come pooled on Roger’s skin, bringing it up to his mouth and licking it off. His eyes never left Roger’s.

“God damn you, Rafa,” he mumbled, rolled over and climbed on top of Rafa, settling in between Rafa’s spread thighs. “You are so fucking hot,” he mumbled right against his lips, not quite kissing him but almost – their lips so close to touching.

Rafa whined impatiently, bringing his hand up, tangling it into the mass of Roger’s hair, forcing their lips to finally meet. 

“You’re always teasing me,” Roger growled into Rafa’s mouth. One of his hands found the back of Rafa’s knee and he squeezed carefully, spreading Rafael’s legs further apart. He couldn’t wait any longer – he pressed his hardening length back into Rafa’s warm pliant body, listening to the Spaniard’s high-pitched whimper.

He lived for this.

***

2012

US Open was shit. His mood was foul and no one could do anything to cheer him up, not matter how hard they’ve tried. When they asked him what was wrong, he couldn’t explain – they wouldn’t understand – he blamed the weather instead.

Mirka knew exactly what was wrong, but didn’t call him out on it. It wasn’t even a surprise when he lost in the quarterfinal. 

He was so painfully aware of Rafa’s absence not even tennis could make him forget. He still remembered Rafa’s phone call, how the man explained to him he had been diagnosed with knee tendinitis. Roger could tell Rafa was barely holding his tears back and his heart ached. He wanted to be there for his lover, for the man he almost certainly loved, but knew he couldn’t.

That was a lie, he just didn’t have enough courage to stand against the rest of the world. 

***

2013

US Open was much better this year. His back was causing him so much trouble, but Rafa was there. Rafa was there to smile at him, to assure him that he was still a great tennis player, because he was getting doubtful. Rafa was there to tell him he thinks he might love him.

He said it so shyly, like he was afraid of what Roger might do. But Roger couldn’t do anything but smile, pulling Rafa into a hug. 

“I think I might love you too,” he murmured and felt Rafa smile wildly, that grin lightning Roger’s whole world up. 

He had to beg Mirka to stay in New York until the end of the tournament. He looked at him with suspicion written in her eyes but something like fondness was also there. 

“We’ll stay if you tell me why you want us to stay,” she said, staring at Roger intently from the other couch. Her eyes were focused on him and Roger couldn’t look away. He felt like a small child being scolded all over again. 

“I’d like to practice?” he tried, but knew she won’t let him get away with it as soon as she rolled her eyes. She stood up and came over at him, sitting down beside and pressing right against him. He wrapped his arm around her.

“Remember that evening you told me about him?” she asked. He nodded. Of course he remembered. He remembered the shame, the tears that were ready to spill, but most of all he remembered how Mirka smiled and hugged him, whispering into his ear: Thank you for telling me, Rog. But I know. He remembered how surprised he was at how well she knew him.

“Remember what I told you?” she asked.

“You said you wanted me to be happy,” he replied quietly, squeezing her tightly. 

“Exactly. So why do you want to stay?”

“I want to watch him play.”

When Rafa was lying on the floor, crying into his arms, his body shaking with sobs, Roger was crying too, hiding his face into the palms of his hands to supress the loud sobs. He was so fucking proud, no trace of jealousy present.

Later, when the clock showed way past midnight Rafa climbed on top of Roger, straddling his hips. 

“I gonna do the job, no?” he said with a wide grin. “Gotta watch your back.” He offered no further explanation. He reached for the tube of lube on the nightstand. Rafa lubed him up and without warning   
dropped himself down, taking his cock in one smooth slide and Roger almost screamed in pleasure. Rafa was moaning prettily, his eyes shining just like when he won and in that moment Roger realized. 

He didn’t think he loved this man. He knew he did. He told him that and a single tear slipped from Rafa’s right eye, his smile never leaving.

***

2014

It was this year when he started doubting. The past six or so months were the best months of his life. Seeing Rafa smile all the time was so good, having him as his was even better. 

But then Roger started noticing things. Mirka wasn’t smiling as much anymore. She was sad, Roger noted and he couldn’t help but be annoyed by it. She was the one who told him to be with him, to be happy.

A few weeks later he found the source of her worry, not sadness as she placed it, and told him she was pregnant. She said she had known for quite some time, but didn’t want to burst his bubble. Roger knew he should be thankful, but he couldn’t suppress his anger. 

He was reading Myla and Charlene a story before bed, when Charlene asked a question Roger never wanted to hear. 

“Daddy, why do you spend more time with Rafa than with us?”

Roger couldn’t answer. He stormed out of the living room, going straight for the bathroom. He could barely keep himself upright as years and layers of guilt pressed on him from all sides. 

He met with Rafa a few days later, his heart already aching, because he knew Rafa’s grin would disappear as soon as he would tell him what he had to tell. 

“Hola, Rogi!” Rafa greeted and Roger thought back to the time when they met, how easy it was. For the first time ever he wished he didn’t start anything with this man. This man who was looking at him like he was some sort of a god, who loved him so purely and unconditionally and Roger could hear his heart breaking. 

“Hey, Rafa,” he said. The Spaniard was sitting close to him, his hand resting on Roger’s knee and Roger took a hold of it, intertwining their fingers, for the last time probably, feeling the strength behind those lean fingers and calloused skin.

Rafael could immediately tell something was wrong, of course he could, this really shouldn’t be a surprise for Roger. 

“Tell me,” he said, his eyes already reflecting that he knew exactly what Roger was going to say. When he did, it didn’t really come as a surprise for Rafa. Somehow it was always in the back of his mind, that this wouldn’t – couldn’t last.

***

2015

He didn’t have to face Rafa until that final in Basel. It wasn’t fair. They both had a shitty year and Roger tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because he was sad. 

Seeing Rafael on the other side of the net did something to Roger. Rafa was missing something, he realized. It was the usual grin, the usual spark in his eyes and it hurt to know that it was all his fault. He was thinking about Rafa the whole game, about his lips, his touch, his soft skin and pliant body, about how stupid he was to throw all of that away.

He had no idea how he managed to win. 

When they hugged at the net it was awkward and quick and Rafa congratulated him in quiet voice. Roger wanted to say something, anything, because they haven’t spoken in more than a year, not about what happened between them, but Rafa pulled away before he could and he realized that he probably lost that right.

***

2016

It got worse.

Rafa got thirty, Roger got thirty-five.

They were both injured, both thinking they were injured beyond repair. Roger’s back just wouldn’t stop hurting and it was almost as bad as watching Rafa wince in pain or not seeing him play at all.  
Mirka respected the decision he had made more than two years ago, liked it even, but what she didn’t like was Roger slowly losing himself. Holding their sons in both hands she sat down beside him.

“How’s the back today?” she asked. Roger shrugged. It was the response he kept on giving not sure what else to say. 

“Did you watch Rafa’s game?” she asked. Roger turner to her, glaring. She knew better than to question him about Rafa.

“Don’t-“ he started, but she cut him off.

“This shouldn’t be a forbidden topic for God’s sake, Roger. You are an adult, go make things right with him!” Her voice was raised, but she didn’t yell, she never did.

“I… I can’t, Mirka,” he said. He noticed his hands shaking and balled them into fists.

“Why not?” she asked. He already knew she wouldn’t be happy with any answer he had to offer.

“He hates me,” he said and as expected Mirka rolled her eyes.

“You’re kidding me, right? Roger, Rafa adores you. Even know. You might not have treated him right, but Rafa could never hate you. Why would he invite you to his academy if he hated you?”

Roger doubted it. He knew there was only place for love in Rafa’s heart, but perhaps there was place for hate in his soul, reserved for Roger only. He remembered all the negative emotion that clouded Rafa’s eyes when he had told him this couldn’t go on for any longer – rage, confusion and deep, deep sadness, that still shook Roger to the core every time he thought about it. 

He remember Rafa’s voice, how small and weak it was when Rafa told him he loved him, before turning around and walking away. 

***

2017

This year was different. The pain in his back went away. Not completely but it was much better. Feeling the cup heavy and cold on his hands in Melbourne he couldn’t quite believe he was back. He looked over at Rafa. The Spaniard was looking down at the floor, but Roger could see a tiny smile forming on those full lips. 

He thought back to when they hugged at the net, how Rafa’s forehead pressed against the side of his face.

“I’m so proud of you,” Rafa had whispered. For only him to hear. He wanted to say something, but Rafa pulled away too quickly and it felt like déja vu. 

He spent the clay season at home, resting his back, watching Rafa win tournament after tournament and Roger wanted to be there to whisper those words back. 

***

Roger made his decision in less than a second. He walked over to Rafa and stopped right behind him, bringing one hand up to place it on Rafa’s back. The body in front of him stiffened, before turning around.

“Hola, Roger!” he said and smiled. Roger noticed the lack of the usual name. He quickly reminded himself that this was one of his lost rights. 

“Hey, Rafa,” he replied, before giving a respectful nod to the person, whose conversation he had cut off. He wrapped his fingers around Rafa’s wrist.

“Excuse me, I need to talk to Rafael in private,” he explained, before dragging the younger man away.

“Roger!” Rafa sounded absolutely shocked and Roger supressed a smile. “What – Ouch, where are we going?” 

“I need to talk to you,” Roger repeated, dragging him behind him. He ignored the glances they were getting. Rafael didn’t really resist anymore, anyways. Roger kept walking until he found the door to the   
balcony and opened it, walking out and finally breathing in some fresh air. Only then he released Rafa’s wrist. The man rubbed it with his other hand although Roger knew it couldn’t really hurt him that bad. Rafa went through so much pain already. 

He leaned across the railing looking down at the streets of Prague. Rafa joined him and although they weren’t even touching Roger could feel the heat of Rafa’s body. He ached to have him in his arms again.

“What you needed to talk to me about?” Rafa asked finally after seconds of comfortable silence. 

“I need to know how you’re doing,” Roger replied. He won’t be careful about what he’s saying. That was part of his decision. He was going to spill his heart out to Rafa, if the Spaniard wanted it or not. It was selfish, but Roger needed this.

“I am well,” Rafa replied carefully. “Back good, foot good, hips good, shoulder good, wrists also good, knee hurts a bit but is also good, no?” 

“I’m glad,” Roger replied. 

“And you?” Rafa asked. Roger knew this question would follow. It was simply in Rafa’s kind and polite nature. 

“I’m-“ Roger inhaled sharply, before he could once more lie and say everything was alright. “No. You know what, I’m not okay. I miss you, Rafa. I fucking miss you and I can’t even function properly, because you own my heart and soul and I can’t-“ He needed to breathe. 

Rafa was quiet, but he was looking at him, his eyes guarded, the expression on his face unreadable.

“I just… I wish I had made things right back when I still had the chance to, because I know I’ll be guilty if I have you and miserable if I don’t, I…”

“Roger. I wish so too,” Rafa said and looked up into the sky, where stars were invisible because of the strong city lights. “I hoped for more than three years that you would change your mind and come back.” 

Rafa’s back was tense, his fingers pressing hard into the railing until his knuckles turned white and Roger wanted to reach out and loosen the hold, but he knew he couldn’t. 

“If you told me this before US Open I would take you back. It is stupid, but I would. But you waited too long, Roger. I have responsibilities now too, I…” 

Roger immediately knew what he was talking about.

“Xisca,” he said, knowing he got it right when Rafa winced. 

“Sí. I asked her to marry me, she said yes. With her, it is not so good, Roger. But she makes me forget about you and I am happy.” He didn’t look happy, but maybe it was just Roger bursting his bubble.   
Roger was hurting. It was a burning pain, spreading from his core where he knew his heart would be. He felt tears in his eyes, but blinked them away, not willing to show Rafa this kind of weakness. 

“I’m happy for you,” he said through burning throat. Rafa glanced at him and sighed. He kept gripping the railing for another moment, before releasing it. He stepped in front of Roger, and when Roger looked up to meet his gaze, something passed through Rafa’s eyes. 

Roger barely kept a pleased sigh in when Rafa’s hard body pressed against him. Rafael wrapped his arms around him and buried his face against Roger’s neck. Roger hugged him back without hesitation, breathing in the scent of Rafa’s hair. 

He could stay like this forever. He knew Rafa would pull away sooner or later so he gripped him tighter, pulled him closer, digging his fingertips into the soft material of Rafa’s blazer until he could feel the solid muscles of Rafa’s back underneath.

He could feel Rafael breathing, he could feel his heart beating. He wanted to feel this every day. If that was impossible, he would take whatever he could. 

“Come back to my room,” he whispered against Rafa’s ear. The man in his arms shivered, but Roger couldn’t tell if it was the cold air or his words. Rafael pulled away, but Roger kept his hands on the Spaniard’s shoulders, keeping him close to himself. 

“I… Roger, I can’t,” he murmured, eyes dropping down to look at the floor. Roger was hopelessly trying to find his gaze. When Rafa didn’t look up, Roger gathered the courage and pulled Rafa closer again. The man fell into his arms without struggling. 

He ran his hand through Rafa’s hair and heard him sigh. 

“You and me, Rafa,” Roger murmured. “We’re so good together.” 

“We are,” Rafa agreed. He seemed content with Roger stroking his hair. 

“Fate fucked us up though, didn’t it? I’m sorry. I wish things were different.”

“Is okay, Roger. We can’t change the past. Only the future, no?”

“But what can we change?”

Rafa’s hand slipped from Roger’s shoulder down his arm, all the way to the palm of his hand. Their fingers intertwined. Roger missed the feeling of Rafa’s strong fingers in between his own. 

“I will always love you, Roger. Keep that in mind.” It took a lot of Rafa to say this, Roger could tell by the tremble of his body and his voice breaking. It could be the cold air too. 

“I love you too,” Roger immediately replied and squeezed Rafa’s hand. Comfortable silence filled the air around them and Roger’s racing, aching heart slowly calmed down. 

After a few moments Roger’s free hand came to rest on the side of Rafa’s face. This should be easy, it’s happened so many times already, Roger thought, but when he ignored Rafa’s questioning gaze and pressed his lips to Rafael’s it felt like the first time again.

Rafa didn’t respond at first, but when Roger tilted his face up using the hand that was now gripping his jaw and deepened the kiss, demanding this from Rafa, his mouth opened obediently and his lips kissed back. Both of their hearts were racing again, blood rushing through their ears and neither could believe they had managed to go more than three years without this.

“Come back to my room,” Roger repeated, his voice suddenly high and breathless. He found Rafa’s gaze and something hot passed through Rafa’s eyes. Roger bit his lip, before kissing him again. His tongue found its desperate way inside Rafa’s mouth, exploring the sweet tastes. 

Rafa was nodding, but Roger was barely aware, his mind occupied with more and need and now. Sneaking his hand behind Rafael’s back, he pulled him closer with his hand pressed to the small of his back where skin radiated heat through the clothes. Rafa’s body felt pliant against his and he used both hands to grab Rafael’s hips, holding him in place as he managed to squirm his knee in between Rafa’s legs and then pulling him even closer, feeling Rafa getting hard against his thigh and Roger couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Roger!” Rafa suddenly exclaimed, sounding absolutely appalled. He pulled away like something burnt him and only then Roger remembered they were on a completely public place. He wanted to say something comforting but absolutely nothing came to his mind so he giggled instead. Rafa looked at him like he was crazy, but then his face cracked up and he was giggling too.

“Oh, God, Rafa,” Roger said in between giggles. His arms wrapped around Rafa’s waist securely, holding him close. Rafa’s hands were resting on his shoulders, a smile still on his hips, but it faded as he seemed to slip back into thought. His hands slowly slipped away. 

Roger noticed hesitation in Rafa’s eyes and tightened his grip on Rafa’s waist just slightly, letting him know this was his to decide. 

“Let’s go then, no? I have to be up at eight tomorrow,” Rafa said finally and his brown eyes were determined and brave. Roger smiled and gripped Rafa’s hand, leading them back inside. Immediately after the doors behind them were closed, their hands parted with a silent agreement in between them. 

They put smiles on their faces and said goodbye to people as they made their way to the exit. There weren’t any suspicious glances, yet they were both feeling as if everyone who got one look at them knew where they were going, what they were going to do. 

As they left the ballroom and walked towards the elevators they weren’t talking, but the silence around them was comfortable and Rafa relaxed into it, feeling some of the tension in his body slowly slipping away. It had always been easy to relax in Roger’s presence. It was only in the elevator when the tension seemed to spiral right down on them again. Rafa was pressed against the mirror, the railing digging uncomfortably into his lower back, while Roger stood opposite of him, unable to look away from Rafa’s dark eyes. 

The elevator ride was short, but Roger’s neck was wet with sweat when they stepped out on his floor. The corridor was completely empty and quiet and Roger gripped Rafa’s hand again just so that he could feel it trembling. It was damp with sweat and warm. His room was at the end of the hall and as they walked Roger felt as if he was making a huge decision. He couldn’t decide if a tightening feeling in his chest was good or bad, but Rafa’s fingers were solid against his own, the heat of Rafa’s body seemed to envelope him whole and he needed more. 

He fumbled with the inside pocket of his blazer to get the key card out. Rafa stood stiffly beside him, his hands now that their fingers were no longer intertwined crossed in front of his chest. He wasn’t showing it, but Roger knew he was nervous, because he himself was feeling it as well. The small green light flashed beside the doorknob and Roger opened the door. Rafa walked in close beside him. As soon as privacy protected them, something unleashed in them both.

Roger pushed Rafa against the still opened door that slammed shut with the weight of their bodies. Rafa let out something that was half a gasp and half a whimper and – Jesus Christ – Roger had forgotten how easily Rafa always submitted, how he always openly begged for more. At least something hasn’t changed. 

He pressed his mouth against Rafa’s and there was nothing slow and gentle about it, about the way Roger’s tongue invaded every corner of Rafa’s mouth, tasting him, while trying to get as close as possible. His hands moved from the door, where he was caging Rafa, to the man’s waist and wrapped around him, squeezing until they were pressed together from knees all the way to their foreheads. When they parted for air, they were both panting. Roger could see the flushed colour in Rafa’s cheeks even in the dark. His lips were opened and swollen and Roger’s saliva made them glisten prettily.   
Roger was so turned on.

He bent down and picked up the key card that had somehow fallen from his grip when he pressed Rafa against the door. He slid it into the slit for electricity and waited until the lights turned on with a sound. 

“Come on,” he murmured and took Rafa’s hand. The Spaniard winced when his back parted from the surface of the door and Roger felt a momentary stab of guilt at having caused Rafa pain. Rafa followed him through the living room where Roger’s tennis equipment was scattered everywhere. His racquet bag on the couch with the racquets in their plastic bags scattered around it. His shoes were piled all over the floor, some still in boxes and the others just laying around, some not even in pairs. A bunch of unwashed T-shirts were thrown over the rest of the couch, when he promised himself he was going to put them away later but was too lazy to actually do it. It was too evident Mirka wasn’t here with him.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” he said, but Rafa didn’t seem to care. He was looking around in wonder, like all of this was known to him, but couldn’t actually believe he was here, in Roger’s hotel room. Another door let to the bedroom and Roger took Rafa there with long purposeful strides. 

The bedroom was neater. Roger’s bed was made. The closet doors were opened and Rafa could see Roger’s clothes, carefully folded or hanging from the clothes-hangers. With an almost sheepish smile Roger closed it, before turning to Rafa. The younger man was biting his lip but at Roger’s cautious glance he smiled. Roger could never not-return Rafa’s smiles. 

The bed was inviting and Roger stepped towards Rafa, whose breathing immediately picked up. He slid his hands under Rafa’s blazer, sliding them up to the Spaniard’s shoulders and taking the blazer off. He carefully hung it on the backrest of the chair beside the closet. He did the same himself. Then he carefully untied Rafa’s tie. His fingers were calm despite the nervousness he felt and the silence around them was comfortable although packed with unreleased tension. The tie followed his blazer and then Roger could finally start unbuttoning this shirt that kept that gorgeous skin hidden from him. 

“Roger,” Rafa gasped, his voice shaking slightly. When the Swiss looked up he could see fear in Rafa’s eyes, but right beside it, immense calm trust. He smiled again and leaned forward to kiss Rafa again this time more gently. With every unbuttoned button he managed to get his hands on more of that golden skin. It was almost scorching hot and Roger was worried for a second, but then again, Rafa had always been hot to the touch. 

He pulled the shirt from Rafa’s dress pants after he unbuttoned the last button and then pushed it off Rafa’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He couldn’t get his hands on the body in front of him fast enough. They fell into each other’s arms easily and stumbled towards the bed. Roger fell down on top of Rafa and settled in between his spread thighs. His lips travelled from Rafa’s lips down the side of his face all the way to his neck where he grabbed the soft skin in between his teeth and sucked, only distinctively reminding himself that he shouldn’t leave any marks. With the way Rafa was whimpering it was, like everything else, completely unimportant. 

The arousal seemed to spread from his tummy right to the tips of his toes and Roger felt himself thickening inside his boxers. He supressed the urge to grind his hips down on Rafa’s. After he was satisfied with the pretty red mark left on Rafa’s neck, his lips travelled lower down, latching onto one of Rafa’s nipples and the sound that the Spaniard let out was absolutely beautiful and Roger wanted to hear so much more of it. 

“Oh, Rogi,” Rafa sighed softly and brought his hand up to run his fingers through Roger’s hair, keeping his head close. Roger didn’t stop until the pink nipple was dark red and swollen and Rafa was pushing his hips up with soft noises escaping through his lips. Then he moved on to the other one and repeated while running his fingers up and down Rafa’s sides, over his prominent hipbones and teasingly dipping his fingers below the waistband of Rafa’s dress pants. 

“I missed you,” Roger mumbled against his soft skin. “I missed this.”

“I… Me too,” Rafa gasped, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. “Rogi! They are sensitive, please!” Roger didn’t know if Rafa was asking him to stop or proceed and neither did Rafa it seemed, his hands in Roger’s hair not letting him move away. 

When Roger’s hand slipped over, rubbing Rafa in between his legs, the Spaniard arched his back with a loud moan. Roger felt another wave of hot desire shoot through him. He pressed one last kiss to Rafa’s nipple, before pulling away. He quickly unlaced Rafa’s shoes and pulled them away, both of them landing in the corner of the room. His socks followed and joined his button-down a few feet away. Roger couldn’t get his hands under the waistband of Rafa’s pants fast enough. 

Rafa’s hands came up in a desperate attempt to get clothes off Roger, but the older man grabbed them and tucked them under Rafa’s back.

“No moving,” he almost growled. Desire mixed with something that might as well be fear passed through Rafa’s eyes, but he obeyed – he always did – and kept his hands right where Roger left them. He watched Roger with dark eyes as the Swiss unbuttoned the button of Rafa’s slacks and pulled down the zipper, his hand painfully avoiding Rafa’s arousal. “Up,” Roger said and Rafa obediently raised his   
hips, helping Roger undress him. 

Rafa was then lying in his white boxers only in front of Roger who was still fully clothed and Rafa couldn’t decide if he found the situation hot or embarrassing. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Roger murmured and couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to Rafa’s tummy. Rafa let out an embarrassing sound at that, his legs spreading open – inviting, and Roger nestled in between them. 

“Roger, please. This- take off… Undress, please,” Rafa pleaded, the muscles in his arms twitching with the want to touch, but they both knew he would never break Roger’s rules. Roger ignored his pleas and slid down until he could press his lips to Rafa’s hot skin again. He kissed all over Rafa’s abdomen, feeling the clenching muscles underneath his lips and when Rafa desperately raised his hips up, brought both of his hands to Rafa’s hipbones and held him down. 

Only then he let his lips touch Rafa’s hardness. Rafa squirmed, helpless noises escaping him as Roger mouthed along the length through his boxers, dampening the material until he could taste the salty precome that seeped through the cotton. 

“Oh, Roger. Yes, please.” Rafa’s words were breathless and rushed. 

Roger did this for a few seconds just to watch Rafa falling apart, his cheeks flushed red, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his whole body tensed, muscles and the hard flesh under Roger’s lips twitching. He didn’t allow himself to think about how much he needed this.

Roger’s patience snapped before Rafa’s obedience. He cursed and pulled away, kneeling in between Rafa’s legs and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, surprised at how calm his fingers were, getting rid of his shoes, socks and pants just as quickly. His cock was tenting his underwear and he desperately pressed the hill of his palm against himself. That alone was enough for Rafa’s eyes to almost bulge out of his skull.

Rafa’s boxers followed and Roger couldn’t tear his eyes away from new flesh on display. He resisted the urge to dip down and take Rafa into his mouth and kissed Rafa’s lips shortly instead. 

“Turn around,” he whispered against Rafa’s lips. The younger man did so immediately, grabbing a pillow and hugging it close, resting the side of his face against it. Roger could see his closed eyes and swollen lips. “After we’re done you’re going to suck my cock,” he said, just to watch Rafa shudder and his back dip. 

“Yes,” he whimpered, the blush from his face spreading all the way down to his chest. Roger kissed and nipped at his back for a few seconds, his hand resting on the small of his back and lightly caressing every once in a while, but never dipping lower, even though Rafa was invitingly pushing his ass up. 

Roger didn’t know where he got so much self-control, but the knowledge that this could be their last time together slowed him down suddenly. 

“Oh, my God, Roger! Stop teasing!” Rafa exclaimed suddenly and Roger smiled, because Rafa’s voice was high and needy and despite the situation just unbearably cute. 

“Be patient, I need to go get stuff,” he replied, pressing his lips once more against Rafa’s back.

“Well, go get it!” 

Roger slid his hand across Rafa’s ass – just a taste, before he forced himself to stand up and walk into the bathroom. He sort of might have been hoping for this, he admitted to himself as he pulled the   
bottle of lube and a condom from his toilet bag. When he came back into the room, Rafa was in the same exact position as before, but his hips were barely noticeably moving as he ground against the sheets. Roger could barely hold the desperate groan in as he watched the muscles in Rafa’s thighs, ass and back work. He couldn’t get back to bed fast enough. He stilled Rafa’s movements with one touch to his hip. Rafa opened his eyes to look at him and smiled softly, eyes flicking to what Roger held in his hands. 

“Why you have this?” he demanded, smile dropping and something like a confused frown replacing it. He swallowed up words which Roger had always found cute.

“You never know what might happen,” he replied and climbed back onto the bed. He pushed Rafa’s legs apart and settled in between them. He kneeled, knowing he won’t be able to stay in this position for long.

“You do this?” Rafa was asking, his hands clenching the duvet. “With other men?” Jealousy was dripping from his voice although Rafa would never admit it. 

“Of course not, Rafa, no,” Roger assured. That might not have been completely true. But he hadn’t – not for a very long time. “I just… I hoped…” He left it at that, judging by the way Rafa – seeming content – closed his eyes, he understood.

“Enough teasing for today, Rogi,” he said, his voice firm, but Roger knew he would become a stuttering mess again the second Roger touched him. 

“Okay,” he agreed softly, but still pressed a slow kiss to Rafa’s neck and ran his hand through Rafa’s soft but thinning hair, before he finally reached for the lube he had placed on the bed beside himself.   
He didn’t dare ask if Rafa maybe did this with other men – he was too afraid of what the answer might be. 

Rafa tensed when Roger’s wet fingers slid in between his cheeks. His thighs actually trembled a bit when Roger pressed against his hole.  
“You’re gonna need to relax,” Roger murmured. He ran his other hand up and down Rafa’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Rafa mumbled, the word barely audible, having been muttered into the pillow. “I… It’s been long, no?” 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Roger immediately replied. That might not have been entirely true either. He liked to hurt Rafa just a bit. Rafa relaxed and Roger’s free hand slipped to his ass, to hold him spread apart, because he wanted to watch. He always found this unbearably hot, the way Rafa’s body opened up for him. His finger slid in and Rafa moaned high in his throat, his hips twitching. 

It took longer than Roger thought it would for Rafa to relax. But after he did, noises of pleasure started leaving his mouth and Roger wanted to hear more. He pressed another finger in and Rafa groaned – Roger barely controlling himself not to. Roger saw Rafa’s hand trying to sneak down to touch himself as he fucked him with two fingers – rubbing over that pleasurable spot deep inside - but he grabbed the Spaniard’s wrist, stopping him before he could. 

Rafa was scorching hot and so fucking tight inside that Roger’s cock twitched with the need to bury himself in. Judging by Rafa’s noises, he wasn’t too far from begging him to. He forced in the third finger, too soon probably, but both of them were too high on lust to care anymore. Rafa felt another wave of heat pass through his body in response to the pain. He had never forgotten this part of him   
existed, but he pushed it into the furthest corner of his mind, pretending it didn’t. 

He was pretty sure he was babbling nonsense by then, words he couldn’t recognize escaping his mouth – probably Spanish mixed with desperate words in English and he couldn’t imagine Roger understood. His hips were pushing back onto Roger’s moving fingers, and he thanked the gods for having spent most of his life on the court or in the gym, because he could do this forever or at least long enough until he came – just like that. 

Where Roger was pressing his wrist down into the bed, he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore and with a satisfactory feeling curling deep in his belly thought that there would be bruises the next day – a mark that Roger was here. There wasn’t space for anything else in his head. 

Sharp shocks of pleasure ran through his body every time Roger mercilessly touched his prostate or scissored his fingers to stretch him out for what was coming later. And that reminded Rafa what he wanted in the first place and he tried to organise his thoughts to tell Roger that he wanted and needed him right now, but the words just wouldn’t form. Spanish, English and even French all mixed into one unknown language and he was confused. 

Thankfully Roger seemed to know what he needed.

“Rafa, shhh, it’s okay,” he said, suddenly close to Rafa’s ear and Rafa realized that he had been saying Roger’s name like a broken record and cut himself off immediately. His body was hot – overheated even – not like on court, because the heat just seemed to gather inside of him and it would explode soon and Rafa was afraid, because it would be too much. He tried to express his concerns, but Roger was biting into his ear and Rafa’s train of though was once again cut off.

Roger pulled his fingers out, unable not to stare at Rafa’s hole as he did so, shushing Rafa’s protest with a kiss pressed to his shoulder blade. He reached under Rafa’s thigh to get the condom where it had slipped, rolled it on and coated himself with lube. He was shaking with the lust, the need to have this and was quite proud of himself for having stayed composed for this long. This might as well be his award. 

Rafa was quiet now and their loud, quickened breathing was the only sound in the room. Roger kept him spread apart with one hand. When the tip of his cock touched his opening, the Spaniard moaned in anticipation and raised his hips and Roger had to grasp at his slipping self-control to take it slowly. As he slipped in inch by inch he couldn’t stop the groan from leaving his lips and thanked the gods for the stamina he had gained through the year. 

“Oh, God, Roger, yes,” Rafa hissed. 

For a long moment, when Roger was pressed deep inside Rafa with one of his hand gripping Rafa’s hip and the other holding his body up, lips pressed against the back of Rafa’s neck and whispering   
sweet words every once in a while, everything was okay. Roger couldn’t believe that they relationship was so hard when this was so easy and so – so right. One of Rafa’s hands came back to touch Roger’s hip, almost like he was checking if this was real. 

“You are okay, yes?” Roger asked and watched Rafa’s hair bounce as he nodded sharply. 

When Rafa’s tensed body relaxed under him, he started moving, staring intently at the side of Rafa’s face, searching for signs of (too much) discomfort or pain but Rafa looked completely blissed out. 

“I… I love this,” Rafa rasped out, his voice barely there, but enough that Roger understood. It made him hotter, if possible and quickened his thrusts, fucking Rafa thoroughly. He tried to make it the best for Rafa and angled his hips in the way Rafa used to like. It was as easy as that. When Rafa clamped down on him like a vice, he knew he had hit his sweet spot perfectly. 

“You really do, don’t you? Jesus Christ.” It was easy to dominate Rafa. To hold him down and do whatever he wanted to him. He should be afraid of the power he had, but he relished in it instead. And it was so good. 

Rafa’s drawn out moans and whimpers were what he’d been waiting for for three years. He did it stronger and harder to hear Rafa’s sounds go higher, muscles trebling with pleasure and with too much of everything. He pressed desperate kisses to Rafa’s cheek until the Spaniard realized what he wanted and turned his head enough that their lips could meet. The kiss was sloppy, with too much spit and teeth, but hot despite it. Roger would always want more. When they parted for air, their breathing was even louder and quicker than before, and Rafa’s eyes, Roger could see, were so dark and sweet that   
he could easily drown easily in them – wanted to even. 

Rafa was pleading for him to go harder, faster and Roger wondered if his back could take this but then again, he would do everything for Rafa at the moment. They fell into the rhythm easily, with Rafa’s ass pushing against him to take more and Roger realized that they were good together. Nothing could beat them. 

“Rogi, please!” Rafa moaned. Roger knew what he was being asked to do, but he wanted to hear it, so he pinched at Rafa’s ass and whispered into his ear.

“What do you want, Rafa? Tell me.” 

“I need to- I… Roger, I need to come, please.” If he wasn’t flushed already, Roger was sure that the Spaniard would blush. He would never get those words out of the shy man if he wasn’t that desperate.   
Roger knew just what Rafa needed to come. It had always worked for him in the past. He didn’t slow his rhythm, but brought his hand up to Rafa’s head. His thumb traced the fullness of Rafa’s lips for a moment, trembling when Rafa placed a small kiss to the tip of it – something so sweet in the middle of something hot, intimate. He slid it down to Rafa’s neck then and when Rafa opened his eyes,   
something unrecognizable passing through them, Roger realized that the younger man knew what he was about to do. He didn’t protest though and Roger took it as an okay, wrapping his fingers around Rafa’s throat from the side – he won’t be able to do it properly from this angle, but perhaps it would be for the best – and squeezed. 

Rafa’s reaction was immediate. Roger wasn’t squeezing hard enough to cut off his breath supply – not really – but Rafa’s eyes still bulged out, his mouth opened and his whole body shook. It didn’t take long after that. Roger noticed the signs of an upcoming release and doubled his efforts, knowing this was his only chance at making Rafa feel good. 

The Spaniard then froze, no more sounds coming from him. If he had enough air, he would have screamed. Pleasure so intense as he haven’t felt in too much time coursed through him. Roger couldn’t actually believe how someone could be so beautiful as Rafa fell apart under him. He tightened around his cock and Roger grunted. He released his hold on Rafa’s throat and brought his hand down to hold Rafa’s hip, nails digging into the soft skin, because with the way Rafa started trashing around just seconds after the edge of his climax, he could easily throw him. 

It was the easiest way to come like this. His sensitive length trapped in between his body and the sheets, not even needing to be touched, because Roger’s touches elsewhere were more than enough. Rafa was pretty sure that he blacked out for a few seconds. When he came back to himself, Roger was fucking erratically into him and Rafa felt himself twitching on Roger’s cock every time his body shook with the aftershocks of his powerful orgasm. He felt tiredness settle into his bones and he moaned in oversensitivity, but he was after such a long time so completely seated. The sheet under him was wet and sticky with seed and his cock protested, but Rafa loved it a bit. 

 

“Fuck, Rafa, you’re so hot,” Roger murmured, always amazed at how easily he could make the Spaniard come. “Yes, I’m close.” 

Rafa brought his hand that had cramped clenched in the sheets up, flexing his fingers to regain the feeling. He reached back and touched Roger’s hip, slipping across his sharp hip bone and then lower to where he could feel himself wet around Roger. Neither of them could keep a moan in at the sensation. His hole was sensitive enough that it clenched even at this simple touch and another grunt from Roger was a warning that he was close. With a soft sigh Rafa’s hand fell back down on the bed. 

“You’re so good, Roger,” he mumbled. “You know how to fuck me exactly the way I like. Go on, come now. Wanna go to sleep.” 

Despite the situation Roger had to giggle, pressing a kiss to Rafa’s sweaty back and, feeling the coiling heat in his tummy spreading, fucked Rafa until he came with a muffled warning. He bit down into Rafa’s shoulder and this would likely to leave a mark. Through the blood rushing through his ears he could hear Rafa whimpering. His hips twitched as he filled up the condom and then sagged against Rafa. 

“You’re sweaty,” Rafa spoke after a few seconds of silence only spoiled by their loud breathing. 

“You’re sweatier,” Roger returned. With a content sigh he rolled off Rafa. He discarded the condom, throwing it onto the floor, planning on throwing it out later, before he turned back to Rafa. The younger man seemed exhausted but happy even though something like regret had settled into his eyes. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said next and Roger wanted to protest, but Rafa cut him off before. “But I’m glad we did. I missed it.” 

“God, Rafa, me too. I… I’m so sorry – I”

“Rogi, don’t. I said before, we can’t change the past. It’s over. I… I’ll go back to Mallorca and marry Mary and you can’t stop me, no? You have family, you have kids, you need to give them attention. They need a lot. And I… I want a baby soon too, no?”

Roger knew this. Rafa had always been a kids person and he found it adorable. Always. Except now. He couldn’t hide the bitter disappointed as he wrapped his arm around Rafa’s waist and pulled him close. 

“Stay the night?” 

Rafa was thinking. A frown settled upon his features, lips pursing, but then he relaxed and a smile touched the corners of his lips.

“Just this once.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> The final scene takes place in Prague at the 2017 Laver Cup.  
> All of the tournaments mentioned are legit, but the fanfic has nothing to do with their actual relationship. :)


End file.
